Prep Time THIS!
by Spawn Guy
Summary: At some point you just have to stand back and realise no one's really winning these things. Totally exaggerated, but done so in fun.


There.

The end to it all, wrapped in grey and midnight black. And standing on a lone rooftop like the king of the world.

A weight was in his chest, sudden as a bullet. If it were as fast as him. He felt annoyed that he couldn't tell what it was. Definitely not fear. _Definitely _not.

Boots scraped cold gravel, the hem of a royal red cape brushing the rooftop like a lover.

Muscles like organic diamond flexed, nostrils flaring in a roman nose.

Any civilian below would have died from fright, or dehydration through urination by now.

But Batman stopped fitting the civilian profile at age eight.

"Bruce."

It was a curt greeting, more in keeping with the Gotham vigilante's style than his own, but he'd had to break off a lunch date with Lois over this entire stupid affair and, well, frankly he was pissed.

"Clark."

No change in the educated tiger snarl mixed with brass knuckles and gravel Batman called a voice, no indication he was bothered by this at all. Probably meant he was merely seething internally.

Superman balled his fists, arms loose but firm at his side, cape spreading behind him in that oh so dramatic way that would have dragged a normal man to a cold asphalt death below. But then, normal men didn't get into situations like this.

Ridiculous. The JLA would never let either of them hear the end of this. Especially not Diana. Aquaman would use the word "bloody", a word he only used when Green Arrow nagged him about having outhouses in Atlantis. J'onn would _stare._

Well, Bruce just wouldn't give a bat shit, but _he_ didn't have a moral reputation that amalgamated the boy scouts and oath upon the bible. Sometime he wondered what would have happened if his ship crash landed in, say, Genghis Kan's palace or something. Somewhere where he wouldn't be raised to be so damn fine and upstanding. Hell, at this point affixation on Saturn seemed more appealing than landing on the same world as a species who were not only stupid enough to put a hole in their own ozone layer, but to argue over the internet about something he _did not _discuss with Batman _ever_…

Batman's cape spread from his shoulders to the rooftop, obscuring his hands. Probably not going to go for the pouch on his belt with the ring in it just yet, that would be too easy. Then again, the sooner one of them ended this farce, the sooner he could get on with his life, and Batman could get on with…whatever it was he did with Alfred in the cave.

That had come out wrong.

"Lets finish this. I left Gordon with a full Arkham, meaning someone will probably go to town on the place and smash it open. You know how it goes. We toss each other around for a while, scuff each other up, and finally, if one of us comes out on top, silence those winy little bastards scattered all over the comic book forums. Oh _God_, I want to hit them!"

Superman almost smiled. Typical Bruce.

A fist was raised. "Lets."

_Thwip. _

"Hey! Big guy!"

Baby blue eyes took in the opposite building, the form crouched predator like there, in a stance no spine should have been able to support.

"Oh no…"

Batman raised an eyebrow. The effect was wasted because he was wearing a mask.

"_This_…was not expected."

"Yeah, well deal with it Bondage Man!"

The rushing rustle of a substance more flexible than water and more solid than concrete impacting against a cape, and Batman was gone. Indignant muffled sounds floated through the air from the other side of the roof. Spider-Man hopped off his ledge, straightening into a pose that actually looked human.

"There! I did it! It took three _seconds_! I beat Batman!"

Superman blinked.

"So, hey, hi!"

And blinked again because he was staring back at himself from giant bug eye lenses.

"Um--hello?"

"What happened, huh?"

Spider-Man's voice was a whine of hysterical politeness.

"It's the '70's. Stan and Carmine sit down to lunch one day and figure, hey, what's one more team up? But not just any team up though. Ohoho nooooo! 'The team up of the century!' You and me, Me and you, red kryptonite dog fighting, web skiing to deepest darkest Africa, a final apocalyptic showdown in the Injustice Gang's satellite with Luthor and Octavius!"

He gestured, a hybrid of pleading and strangling.

"Fun and plenty of games! You'd think that'd be the end of it! But oh no! A teeny, tiny, Ray Palmer on Pym Particles sized door is opened and all those little inter company 'Who would win in a fight?' letters they almost never printed in the letter columns now have the potential to be answered, but because of the ever present plot device of the 'Misunderstanding Followed By Team Up' they can't actually be answered because inevitably if any real answer is actually given it's not going to be fair to one side or the other!"

A still convulsing hand spasmed in the general direction of the still struggling web sack.

"And then someone realises, hey, Nausferatu over there makes more money than you do! Thus to justify putting off the far too easy plot of you tapping him unconscious with your little finger nice and easy, gimmick after convenient gimmick is introduced, usually ripping off Frank Miller, because clearly you 'get' it if you rip him off. Fair enough! Human ingenuity and day glow rocks, fair enough!"

The hands snapped into fists.

"But then it starts getting stupid, and their great answer to all of it is--TA DA! Prep time! Now nothing is impossible because a guy in a cave got a five minute head start, and a brand new excuse almost obliterates the old one overnight. And then it _spreads_!"

This came out in a Cobra Commander hiss. Superman blinked again as an accusing finger almost put out his left (invulnerable) eye.

"And you just sit there and take it, letting the side down every time you two have it out by fighting like a compete retard! And the plot induced stupidity just spreads and spreads and spreads. My God, I used to be able to_ cream_ Wolverine and Daredevil! They were the secret ingredient of my Aunt May's wheat cakes and meatloaf! Now? I'm lucky to limp away with a retarded pop culture reference after three pages of Bruce Lee filler!"

Superman blinked yet again. The accusing finger now flew, less accusingly but just as sharply, to the spider emblem sleeping happily on Spider-Man's chest.

"Do you realize that because of this, people are now arguing intelligibly, I shit you not, that Ace the Bathound and Ambush Bug could actually beat _me_ in a fight!?"

He threw back his head, balled fists raised to the sky in final, volcanic effigy.

"What happened to the days when these things were at the very least decently routine and all you had to do was _turn up_!? If I'm going to loose a fight based on favouritism, could they at least be honest about it instead of me!? When I'm out of my league, can I just be completely out of my damn league!? Is that just too much to ask!?"

He stood there, panting.

Superman, lacking any particular function, blinked. Sought out a particular function. Found one. Shrugged. Pulled back a fist.

"Alrighty then."

It dawned on Peter Parker that he was now staring down the four fingers and a thumb barrel of something that could probably punch a black hole through a star.

"Oh, crap…"


End file.
